Title: Knorg’s Vampire Tarot
Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name:
Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: These card stories use a variety of well-known and
popular as well as more obscure characters, from Marge Simpson to Elvis, from
Bloodrayne to Jon Arbuckle, as well as my own characters. Each story is around
1000 words.
Stories: Death/Rebirth by
Vampire, catfight, sex, girl-on-girl, and similar.
Song lyrics used without
permission.
Characters/places/trademarks
that aren’t mine are used for this parody without permission.
This story concept is a
parody of Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot by Neil Gaiman.
The world’s last vampire,
Dr Richard DeWashingley, had worked for the past fifty years for a cure for his
condition. He had calmly, deliberately and rationally sought to restore his
health to a human standard – so he would no longer have to stalk evildoers in
Raccoon City and feast on their blood, and then destroy them utterly to prevent
his condition spreading.
His approach paid off, and
after those five hard decades of work in which he trained body and mind in the
scientific disciplines he needed and began his research as he earned his
doctorate, he was but hours off the completion of the final cure. It would be a
simple virus that would re-write his own genetic structure to match that of a
human, and then break down to nothing. Now, gentle reader, I am sure you are
aware of the virus problems that Raccoon City became famous for, but I assure
you that Dr DeWashingley’s virus was nothing of the sort.
It worked properly with no
negative side effects. After he administered it to himself, he lay in a fever
for some time. He dropped into a temporary coma as his brain was regenerated.
His unconscious state meant that he did not hear the sounds of panic and
violence outside, in the city, as the Umbrella Corporation’s far less benign
virus turned the population into ravening flesh-hungry zombies.
The good doctor awoke
feeling weak. His senses were operating at human levels, just as he remembered
them from tens of years past when last he was human. His sensible calm approach
had restored him to true health. Dr DeWashingley felt he could test his
regained humanity initially with an unscientific approach, and selected an old
photo of Clara Bow from his bedside table.
He had lusted after the
silent movie starlet in life, but vampires like Dr DeWashingley had no sexual
urges. They reproduced by spreading the vampirism, not by fucking. As a human
though, he felt blood pump into his penis again as he gazed on her face, and
began to masturbate for the first time in more than half a century. He stroked
himself quickly, not too roughly, and dreamt old dreams of Clara.
He groaned softly as he
felt the pleasure of climax, but his penis barely dribbled any ejaculate. He
realised that his newly re-humanised testicles had not yet produced much sperm.
Relaxed and no longer a vampire, he drifted off to sleep as the city died
around him. Had he known of the terror now sweeping the streets, he might have
preferred to remain a Vampire. His cured vampirism could have offered some
measure of protection.
He awoke the next morning
to the sound of his Laboratory’s external doorbell. It rang continuously, and
he realised that somebody must be holding it down. He was annoyed, partly, to
be disturbed so. Equally though, Dr DeWashingley was elated – he could interact
with humans as a fellow again, rather than a predator.
He paused only to wrap his
white lab coat around his naked frame, and dashed out of his lab, and down to
the outside door. In his hurry, he failed to check the CCTV viewer to see whom
his visitor was. Dr DeWashingley swung open the door, and gasped. A very dead
man was slumped against the bell, causing it to ring. His student neighbour
Missy was chewing red strips of flesh from the man’s chest.
As a vampire, he had
killed humans and drunk their blood – but it had always been a relatively clean
process, a simple neck bite. His newly humanised senses were violently
assaulted by the sight, sounds and smells of the zombie Missy chewing on the
stranger. He was fatally shocked into inaction. Missy lurched away from the
stranger and against Dr DeWashingley.
“No!” he cried, “Get away
from me!”
She looked through milky
eyes that showed no hint of recognition. All she wanted was the hot meat. Dr
DeWashinley dripped back over his own doorstep, and sprawled in the hall. His white
coat came open and revealed his skinny pale body to the once-pretty zombie
girl. Missy dropped onto him, pulling herself up his body. Dr DeWashingley
lashed out with his hands, but Missy was past caring about pain.
To his horror, he realised
that the girl’s cold bodied moving on him was making his penis hard again. It
had been decades without sex, but Dr DeWashingley had never imagined being
aroused by a walking corpse – even as a Vampire when some would say he
technically was one. It was a purely physical reaction, for his mind was
repulsed. Missy sat astride Dr DeWashingley, and pulled his hand up to her
mouth. He tried to tug back, and then screamed as she bit off a finger.
Blood splashed the zombie
girl’s face as she chewed. Dr DeWashingley was infected with the virus that
would see him become undead again, but he didn’t know it yet. All he could
think of besides the pain was the sick irony of ending his undeath state,
returning to health, only to be killed. Missy’s crotch moved on his, and instinctively
following an action from life, she reached down under her skirt, and slipped
his hard cock into her.
Dr DeWashingley groaned as
he penetrated the zombie. He tried to push her away, but succeeded only in
rocking her on him. Missy moaned, then lowered her head to bite Dr
DeWashingley’s chest. The new virus was already spreading through his body. He
felt the pain turn to a hot sensation, and the unwilling pleasure that came
from Missy’s body moving on his reached his brain.
Missy continued to tear chunks out of Dr DeWashingley’s chest with her teeth while the dying former vampire began willingly to hump up into her. He could not tell if she groaned with pleasure or hunger, but her cries spurred him on. His own eyes clouded over as he came dryly inside Missy. His last coherent thought was of the great injustice of it all. Fifty years of temperance were rewarded with ugly, brutal death.